


Kill Kate

by wearethewitches



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Kate Lives, Marine Corps, Mental Health Issues, NCIS Major Case Response Team (MCRT), Paranoia, Tattoos, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 05:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Kate wakes up ten years old again and thinks she's dreaming. She's not.or, Kate lives bc of like,, time travel when she died - or a fic where Kate earns that captain rank and has the mental health to match, by the time she meets Gibbs again.





	Kill Kate

When she first wakes, there is a sense of surrealism to her life.

It’s as if she’s dreaming – because she’s can’t _actually_ back home in Indianapolis. Uncle Barry comes around every evening to their house for dinner; Rachel slams her door shut when she gets home from school; Michael climbs in and out of his window every night to meet his girlfriend; Andy makes faces at her behind their mom’s back when he’s supposed to be washing dishes. The first time she catches David takes apart engines in the garage, she thinks she has to be in a coma.

But everything about her life at home, she takes time to remember. She’s a ghost, walking through her own life. Kate doesn’t really think she’s home, not until she trips down the stairs and smashes her elbow so hard that bone sticks out of her skin.

The pain burns like a gunshot and her family panic around her – her dad swearing under his breath and crying, cursing himself for not fixing the tear in the carpet up on the landing. Michael tries to touch her.

Kate stops him sharply, woozy with pain.

“Don’t – you could make it worse!” She hisses through gritted teeth, squeezing his wrist as Uncle Barry hauls her to her feet, pain spiking horrendously. Blood is soaking her shirt and Kate _knows_ this never happened. She thought this was a dream, a hallucination – but even coma patients don’t have pain this realistic, not unless it’s happening to them while they’re in their coma.

“Oh, Caitlin Annabelle,” her mother prays by her hospital bed when she comes out of surgery, eyes red and her cross necklace clutched in a death grip. “My girl,” she says. “You’re so brave.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kate replies, like she isn’t drugged to her gills and ready to kick the ass of whatever doctor who dared put her on such a high dose. Her mind is sluggish and slow, her reflexes seconds behind her brain. It was bad enough not being able to catch herself when she fell down the stairs.

_This is real,_ she convinces herself eventually. Her family coddle her, in the aftermath of her injury – which makes a pretty great cover for when she bursts into tears one afternoon, unable to hold back her grief. Kate is a child again, only ten years old.

And she’s already died once before.

She misses her team. Tony would make a stupid movie reference, that is somehow relatable to her experience – maybe Groundhog Day. Kate has no idea. Tim would be a little more X-Files over it and Abby could go either way, refusing to believe the fact that she’s reliving her life or getting completely over-enthused. Kate has a feeling she’ll be making a lot of good bets on politics, later in life.

_What about Gibbs, Kate?_ She asks herself, imagining his amused smile and his raised eyebrows. He’d humour her and she’d never know if he believed her or not. That’s assuming Kate ever gets the chance to tell him.

“I want to work for the government,” she tells Rachel, seeding the waters early. Her family were so surprised when she became Secret Service. That won’t happen this time around. Rachel raises an eyebrow at her.

“As what, kiddo? An accountant?”

Kate raises her chin, determined.

“A spy.”

In ways, it’s true. She _will_ be spying, doing her own reconnaissance work. She wants to tread a different path, but not _that_ different – and she needs to be in the right place at the right time, if she wants to be NCIS the same way. _Or not,_ Kate eventually figures. Major Kerry was a mistake.

Getting to Air Force One, though? That’s going to take skill and an _unsuspicious_ amount of skill, at that. Someone might clock her as a teen terrorist, recruited early in life. Kate wouldn’t be surprised if she _is_ accused of it, eventually.

Her ‘ambition’ becomes common knowledge amongst her close family. Andy ruffles her hair and gets her climbing trees more, using it as an excuse to get her doing more outdoorsy stuff, as superspies ‘climb shit’. To be honest, Kate doesn’t mind. It’s fun and spending time with her eldest brother is nice. When Andy goes away to college, Kate convinces her father – Andrew Senior – to get her ropes and climbing gear.

“You sure, Kit-Cat?” He asks her, so over-protective and fatherly. Kate still wrinkles her nose when he reaches to touch the arm she smashed. “Climbing can be dangerous.”

“I’m afraid of heights. I want to change that,” she tells him. Later, she’ll internally thanking him for reminding her about her arm. Physio was hell.

Her arm is still compromised.

Kate pushes herself to fix it as she gets into shape. She runs, lifts weight, joins all the sports and gymnastics clubs – getting her membership at the local shooting range at the earliest age she can. Somehow, despite all her preparations…she’s still surprised when the recruitment officer starts hounding her.

“You could be a sergeant, going out abroad on the military’s time and money,” they say to her, trying to appeal to a personality she keeps hidden behind her profiler’s mask. The recruiter himself gets very familiar with each member of her family, catching Michael when he’s out fucking about with his friends and practically stalking her mom at the bookshop she works in.

Kate calls him a stalker to his face many times. The man only grins at her, then waves a flyer under her nose.

School takes up a lot of her time though, even disregarding her extra-curriculars. She’d forgotten how awful the American school system was and she knows it’ll only get worse. For that alone, Kate can’t feel fully angry, especially not when she keeps her 4.0 average in AP classes a whole year ahead of her original timeline.

“Why _not_ join the army?” The recruiter asks her on the way between school and gymnastics. Unlike her other sports, Kate has to go to the local community centre for this one – they do trampolining in the same space and the storage for those things is too much for the high school.

“Because soldiers in the army are cannon fodder,” she replies shortly.

“But say you _had_ to join the Forces…you could do a lot,” he tries and Kate finally decides she’s had enough. Twisting to face him, she snaps out an imaginary, impossible plan for her life.

“Marine Corps. Navy. If I _had_ to join the Forces, it would be those. I’d want to get the rank of Captain, _minimum_, in the shortest time possible. I’d want to have seen action and then, after my tour was done, I’d want to stay at home and transfer across to an agency where my training could still be used for the benefit of our country. Secret Service, FBI – _I don’t care._ If you can get me on that specific career track, no bullshit, then I might _consider_ it.”

Her recruiter is stunned. Kate takes her chance to get out of his line of sight. But the universe must be playing to her hand, God must have heard her speech and thought it a good idea – because the recruiter is in her living room with her parents, a Marine Corps recruitment officer in full uniform standing by her Uncle Barry’s armchair.

“Caitlin Todd,” the officer says, eyes gleaming, “I’ve heard you wanted to join the Marines.”

* * *

Flawless school records. Able to use over half a dozen different types of gun with amazing proficiency. A clear idea of what she wants to do in life. Other small, inconsequential things, like a clean criminal record and a perfect physical prior to boot camp, with a flawless recovery of her elbow – apparently, Kate is the dream recruit, despite her gender.

Part of her wonders if the world will be a more dangerous place without her. She’s joining the Marines, not the Secret Service; most of that was training and missions across the globe to prove her worth as a human shield. But being part of the Corps is a statement, a death wish, even. Once, Kate had said that Gibbs made her want to enlist.

Well. She’s young. Her life has started over. Why not?

To be honest, it’s her curiosity that makes her sign. Gibbs was a role model to her and honestly? Thinking about the shit she went through to get her position in the Secret Service makes her sick, sometimes.

Her family aren’t pleased at her enlistment, but they support her. After all, it’s nineteen ninety. She’s seventeen. They have no idea that in three years time, the Pentagon will once again loosen the reigns on the rights of women serving in the military. Kate remembers more than a few facts about women’s participation in the Marine Corps.

“You’re going to be an administrator,” Rachel teases her, before she leaves. “You’ll be watching all the buff men get deployed while you’re stuck in an office without air-conditioning.”

“Ha ha,” Kate fake-laughs, lying as she says, “I’m only in it for the free jumper.”

Actually, she’s really looking forwards to having her own USMC jumper. She’ll wear it in the bullpen at NCIS one day, when she has to change into her spare set of clothes and she’ll watch as Gibbs struggles to hide his smile.

He always did like a woman in uniform.

Sometimes, Kate really does wonder at what she’s thinking about; then, she decides to blame teenage hormones. It’s a convenient excuse she uses to fantasise about her former boss regularly and without shame.

Her recruiter is with her when she rides to the nearest boot camp, despite being army. He’s giddy with excitement – one of those true believers, who _actually_ gets excited when their recruits get going.

“You’ll be great – my buddies are going to be watching you, my OSO friend especially. He wants to get you to Officer level, like you want, trying to get more women involved in military ops. So if you impress him and his superiors, stuff could change. More opportunities,” he says, practically salivating. He’s the total opposite of Tony, eyes gleaming at the possibility of change, rather than just the idea of more women in his workplace. “You can go far if you do well, Todd. Good luck.”

“Thank-you,” she says, not realising how much she’ll need it, in the end.

* * *

Kate Todd, without realising it, gains a reputation.

She’s abroad for two years and three months total, with breaks between tours. She gets a thirst for it, unable to sit around doing nothing – the war really _does_ come home with you, she realises, delaying her journey to Captain to stay non-commissioned, fighting out in Iraq. She dreams of desert heat and ordering evacuations, dead men walking living in her mind.

Her squad calls her _Jadis_.

Once upon a time in the Secret Service, Kate was called _Rosefern._ It was a codename she used for six whole, entire years and then never used again. The name was most likely recycled and given to another agent when she left – but despite that, she was attached to the name.

_Jadis_, in literature, is the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia – specifically, _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe_ – and was a queen and conqueror who died and in a later novel, was briefly resurrected. Kate read those books as a child, encouraged by her mother because of the religious allegories, though it’s been a long time since she picked up one of C.S. Lewis’ books.

Kate eventually returns home, injured badly enough that she has to take more time than usual to recover. Her whole right side is a mess, one she vows to cover up with tattoos. Abby would be proud.

Before that, she goes back to school, the Naval Academy welcoming her with judging gazes. Her recovery is obvious, but Kate pushes through. Sometimes, she wants to cry – wants to break down and scream, maybe even ram one of the stupid military vehicles into the side of the building.

But it’s Quantico. This Naval base is home territory to her.

Once, Kate ‘gets lost’, following a familiar path to offices she shouldn’t be visiting. Her eyes find walls painted the wrong shade of white and desks filled with strangers, except a few. A nearby officer turns her around, eventually – but not before she catches sight of a familiar head of hair, gruff voice echoing through her brain for weeks afterwards.

Kate scrapes through the physical evaluations, ‘average’ rather than ‘the best’. When her friends in the Corps hear of her commission, they celebrate, not knowing how insecure Kate feels. She pushes herself. She pushes and pushes, until she’s ready to go back out there. She wants it. She _needs _it.

“We’re not sending you overseas, Lieutenant.”

She’s too eager. The shrink assigned to her has her grounded until Kate can get her head on straight. No-one should _want_ war or death. Kate is blooded and angry, because she _knows_ it’s bull and that they wouldn’t do this to a male Marine – but she also understands that all their reasons are legitimate, too. Kate is shaken up and if you know what to look for on her face, it’s all too clear. Kate knows she does.

_Maybe I won’t get Captain,_ she eventually begins to think, considering whether or not it’s time to leave. There are only three years left on her renewed contract. It’s 1997. How long would it take her to get trained up in the Secret Service, if she wanted to get onto Air Force One in 2003? So she could meet her team again and join NCIS?

Too long, she realises, heart cracking inside her chest.

_I never should have stayed in the Corps._

* * *

In Indianapolis, Andrew Todd drinks fine Malt whisky with his daughter.

Caitlin Todd has always been headstrong. He’s always known that. When she broke her arm, she didn’t cry or freak out like the rest of them. At ten, at eleven, twelve, thirteen – at any age, his youngest baby girl has been stubborn. It hadn’t surprised him that she joined the Forces, when the time came, even if he was disappointed at how badly her life will be in danger. He breathed a sigh of relief when the Gulf War officially ended during her first tour of duty.

“Something’s eating at you, Kit-Cat,” he eventually says to her. Andrew sips his whisky, solemn as he watches her sit on the sofa, foot tapping impatiently. Kate glares at him. Andrew snorts, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one acting like you’re six years old again and in trouble.”

It’s true. Despite the glass in her hand, her shoulders are hunched, her head dipped as she sips from her crystal glass. Kate is quiet as she thinks seriously about his question. No sigh slips out of her. It should. That’s why Andrew worries.

“You’re twenty-six. You’re an ex-Marine with a fine service record. You could do anything, Caitlin.”

“I shouldn’t be an ex-Marine at twenty-six. I should be an ex-Marine at twenty-_seven_,” she immediately replies, angry and glaring daggers at the space between them. She slams her glass down on the side-table, voice getting louder as she snaps, “One year! One more year and I would have gone.”

“Caitlin,” Andrew draws her attention to him, leaning closer. “You need time to settle. This life has twisted you up inside. It’s changed you in ways you aren’t seeing.”

“Daddy, I know I’ve changed – but I had plans. I have a deadline.”

“What kind of deadline?”

Her eyes flash, guarded. She goes mute. For a while, nothing happens and Andrew finishes his glass in one gulp, getting out of his chair to join her on the other side of his office. She melts into his side, heading resting hard against his collar. This is what he was missing, sitting opposite her.

“You need some civilian connection,” Andrew says in a joking voice, meaning every word. He knows soldiers – there are two that go to the diner in town every day and they still carry themselves like they’re in danger. Being together is good for keeping them sane, but bad for getting them readjusted. “You still seeing that counsellor?”

“Yup,” she says, bitterness clear as a bell.

Andrew sighs, thinking, _Todd’s never do anything the easy way._ It might be a long road, but he’s going to make sure his little girl is fine again – if she lets him.

“Start small,” he murmurs. “Kit-Cat. What do you want to do with your life?”

For a time, she’s silent. Then, his daughter says something that surprises him – something he never thought he’d hear her say, not with her drive or with her career. It’s big and at the same time, so very, very human.

She says:

“I want a family.”

* * *

Kate builds something new. Her uniforms are tucked away into her closet, in the apartment she’s bought in Washington DC, only brought out when she visits friends and brothers in Arlington. She’s gone to more than a few funerals – the least she can do is show solidarity, her hand pressed to medals on her breast that she wouldn’t have without them.

Is this what Gibbs sees, every time he sees the grave of Marine? A brother? A sister? Kate thinks he does. There’s something to be said about the flash of pain in her chest every time she sees dates between her enlistment and her discharge.

The ironic part is that she did get Captain. While she never saw combat as a commissioned officer, Kate certainly got her fair share as an enlisted one, just like she wanted. What was it she said to her recruiter? She wanted to be a captain and to have gone on tour. That happened. She got her wish.

_Just no transfer,_ she thinks wryly. She isn’t Secret Service and she’s certainly not FBI. _What I would give for my wild plan to have worked._

Plans change, though. Kate should have known that, especially when taking into consideration the effect of long ops on an untrained mind. Her paranoia from Secret Serviceman training had her keeping a gun under her pillow well before she joined the Corps. It’s only heightened now, in light of her newest experiences. She needs retrained – so she remembers to think first, _then_ shoot.

In 2001, when the World Trade Centre falls, Kate takes advantage of the atmosphere throughout the country. She applies for the Secret Service again. It should be impossible for her to get into Air Force One this late, but she wants some of the training they have to offer. Profiling has always been a talent of hers and she’s so very, very rusty. Kate expects to be treated like a newbie.

She forgets her own entire fucking history in this new and improved timeline.

“The position as liaison between the Service and NCIS will need to be filled eventually,” she’s told, like it doesn’t make her heart stutter inside her chest. “The agent currently working it is a former Marine, like you, but trained in our methods. He’ll be retiring soon. Usually, he works with other agencies as well, backing up the other ambassadors when deemed necessary, as we don’t get NCIS involved in our affairs often. It’s a good position to jump from, after you’re settled in the Service. But you’ll need more training. Can you do it?”

And Kate asks: “What’s my deadline, sir?”

Deadlines are made. Deadlines are met. The codename _Rosefern_ belongs to another agent, but the Secret Service don’t mind bringing a new one into rotation, considering her background and her new position within the agency.

“Jadis.” A colleague smiles when they hear it for the first time, joking, “They call you that ‘cause you’re an Ice Queen? Got a prudish rep in the Marine Corps, Todd?”

“No,” Kate replies, remember fire against her skin and hearing muffled echoes of a paramedic’s voice, the whine of the defibrillator in her ears. There are still scars on her chest from where she was brought back to life. “And if you ask me again, I’ll shoot you.”

The guy takes her seriously, as he should. Coincidentally, Director Morrow asks nearly the same question that afternoon when they meet for the first time.

“I’ve never heard the Service using that codename before,” he says almost casually, eyeing her up. “Do they call you that because you’re a witch, Agent Todd?”

“No,” answers Kate, continuing to say, “but if you want to ask my buddies in the Corps, go right ahead. I’m sure they’ll all have different answers.”

“Gained?” his lip twitches, a deliberate show of his guard. It says _I want to be familiar with you_, even though they both know that Kate’s predecessor never really did his job right. They spent more time hanging around the CIA than NCIS. Kate doesn’t have big shoes to fill – not unless she wants to.

Morrow is offering her an olive branch and Kate would be a fool not to take it.

“In different ways,” Kate divulges, offering her own conspiratorial smile. “Really, I’m not the one to ask, though I won’t say I hate it.”

“It could be worse,” Morrow offers and when he leaves, it’s Kate who knows that NCIS is reaching out to other agencies, regardless of whether or not they have connections to the Marines. The Secret Service does not. They have connections to the President. It’s too bad for NCIS that the Secret Service has no intention of replying to their overtures.

_Oh well,_ Kate thinks in the privacy of her home, watching trash telly on her sofa. _More connections for me_.

Her USMC jumper is grey and warm, identical to the one she knows Gibbs owns and wears regularly, the round collar loose around her neck. Wearing it makes her feel closer to him, even though they are years and lives apart. She sips her tea, thinking of Air Force One and flight she’ll never be on.

It is 2002.

Kate has time to figure everything out.

* * *

One of the things that Kate doesn’t like to think about is the possibility of Ari changing his MO. Kate will be different when he takes Ducky hostage in autopsy with Gerald. Wearing her service weapon is non-optional, but it’s how Ari caught her out that first time. Kidnapping her in broad daylight was manipulation on his part, complex but executed so simply, it’s unbelievable.

But Kate can’t be fooled the same way twice and she believes herself when she thinks that Ari would catch her if she pretended. Him being Mossad and Al Qaeda at the same time is disconcerting. He could be playing either side.

There are other things she dislikes, too. Hostages like Sandy, crime scenes solved with pure luck – and things that she can’t just pretend not to know. There’s a difference between making a leap in logic and knowing the outcome of a case right off the bat. It was bad enough pretending to be shocked by the fall of the Twin Towers; for Kate, it’s years in the past. She’s gotten over the shock of 9/11 and adapted, while the country is only just beginning to comprehend the scope of it.

Worrying makes her nervous. Being nervous makes her paranoid. Paranoia makes her miss the obvious. In this specific case, that _obvious_ is forgetting that Jimmy Palmer doesn’t know her.

She crashes into him on her run, in the morning. He stumbles and falls to the ground, Kate swearing and crouching to help him up.

“Palmer. Shit, are you alright?”

“Do-” he stutters, eyes widening behind his glasses, “Do I know you?”

Realising her mistake – realising that there is a looming future mistake in her reactions, that meeting her former team is only going to create a mystery that Gibbs, Tony, Timothy, Abby and Ducky are all going to want to solve – Kate shakes her head. It takes her a moment to form a polite smile meant for strangers.

“No,” she lies, saying, “but I’m familiar with your ID card.”

“_Oh,_” he gasps and she hopes he’ll jump to some ludicrous conclusion. He exclaims, “I know it’s wrong, but I’m trying to get that fixed! It was just a mistake with my paperwork, I’m not trying to pretend to be younger than I am, promise!”

Kate stares.

Palmer wilts. “That’s not what you meant, is it.”

“…no, but, uh…good luck with fixing your paperwork.” She helps him up, patting his arm. “Sorry I ran into you. Bye.”

“Uh- bye!”

Kate finishes her run. When she gets home, she smashes her fist into her boxing bag and immediately sinks into a bad mood when it hits wrong. Her punch should be perfect. Kate spends the rest of her day off, calling in sick to HR, working herself into a fugue state. When she finally drops, her fists and feet are bruised, knuckles bloody.

She has a long bath with a bottle of wine, afterwards. The whole time, she stares at the tiled wall, eventually reorganising her thoughts into a semblance of normality.

_You need to get yourself together, Todd._

The next day at work, Kate makes her decision, generating the appropriate paperwork. She’s going to apply to work at NCIS and hope to fuck that Palmer doesn’t recognise her, if he ever comes to work there. If Kate can prevent Gerald from getting shot, then maybe he won’t ever come.

She’s been so caught up in keeping things the way she knows that she’s forgotten what’s right in front of her. Kate has been brought back to life for a reason, she has to hope that. Rejoining the Secret Service was a mistake – all she’s done is get friendly with CIA and FBI schmucks more concerned about the safety of one man rather than the people he serves. It doesn’t matter that she’s a profiler again. She could do that at any alphabet soup agency.

Kate remembers what she said to her father. She wants a family. Specifically, she wants _her_ family – the NCIS Major Case Response Team. Tony, the misogynist fungus; McGee, the nerdy probie; Abby, her best friend; Ducky, the stand-in father figure and continual light in her life; and Gibbs.

What to say about Gibbs?

_Fuck the timeline,_ Kate thinks, signing her resignation. _I’m getting my family back._

And if she fucks things up along the way, then that’s her problem.

* * *

Gibbs is not having a good week. His coffee was decaf this morning, Dinozzo is officially stuck on desk-duty until his ankle heals and Abby banned him from entering the lab yesterday until he ‘lightens up’. The file waiting for him on his desk is not something he wants to read – especially when he isn’t in the right mood to make good judgements about potential recruits for his team. Whoever Caitlin Todd is, he doesn’t want to subject her to his militaristic scrutiny. Not today.

Morrow’s secretary had specifically mentioned that the Director approved of her addition to NCIS, even if Gibbs didn’t take her on. The _‘her’_ bit is Gibbs’ second reason to hesitate, at the moment. Bringing in a female, as interesting as it might be, is always a hit and miss due to the reaction Dinozzo usually gets from women. Future Agent Todd would have to be a ballsy girl to work professionally with him.

A coffee is placed in front of him by a passer-by. Gibbs stares at the unknown agent walking through his bullpen, long hair and build designating her as female. When she turns the corner, he sees military in her bearing, but her dark wave of hair hides her face as she walks away.

Gibbs reaches for the drink and sniffs it, brain recognising strong, black coffee. A glance at the brand logo sees that it’s his usual. Narrowing his eyes, Gibbs searches for the woman again and finds her leaning against the orange walls by the elevators, watching him. Gibbs abandons his desk, leaning over his beverage as he makes his way over, hunting instinct turning on.

“Special Agent Gibbs,” she greets shortly, smiling at him.

“Coffee,” replies Gibbs shortly, asking, “Why?”

“I heard a rumour about decaf – terrible, truly,” an amused smile plays over her lips and Gibbs thinks, _hot_. She’s gorgeous, actually, young – and her sarcasm has him hooked. He isn’t satisfied by her answer, though.

“Who are you?”

A pause. The smile fades. “You’ll find out soon. I expect we’ll be introduced eventually.” She offers her hand, the sleeve of her long grey coat riding up slightly. Gibbs sees a tattoo under there, but there’s a leather glove in the way, black and concealing. He shakes, silent as she nods, “You can call me Jadis, until then.”

“Codename,” he recognises, her familiarity with it like a siren.

“Tell Dinozzo I say ‘hi’,” she then instructs, squeezing his hand shortly before releasing it. A tilt of her head. A turn. Gibbs watches her go, blood buzzing with intrigue. He sips his coffee when the elevator door closes, heading back to his part of the office.

“Dinozzo!” he barks.

Tony looks up from his report, calm for once. “Boss?”

“Ever heard of a Jadis?” Gibbs asks, settling behind his desk. “Codename for an agent.”

“NCIS doesn’t use codenames.”

Gibbs pushes the application file off to the side, ignoring it as he turns on his computer. Cryptic, he says to him, “She’s not NCIS. Find out who she is.”

“Sure, boss. Got any idea where she _is_ from?”

“Nope. Work it out, Dinozzo.”

His partner rolls his eyes, then gets to work. Gibbs watches his computer load up, glancing at his coffee once. She wore gloves, he remembers, looking back to the screen a moment later. Abby wouldn’t be able to find fingerprints – and he wants to drink it, anyway.

All he has is a name.

Curious as to who she might be and what she’s doing in NCIS, he hopes they meet again soon.

* * *

It’s a strange sensation to be back in the Navy Yard. NCIS HQ more orange than she remembers and more old-fashioned, too. Technology is picking up fast, around this time – there’ll be better computers and keyboards around, in the coming years. Better looking, as well.

Kate brought Gibbs coffee because she really did hear about his decaf problem that morning, having been entering Morrow’s office when he realised and shouted at Tony. It was loud enough and familiar enough that she listened automatically, instincts from years gone returning to her without pause. Morrow had glanced her way with what looked like approval, when she made the mistake of mentioning it idly.

In any case, she got him coffee. It wasn’t a hardship – in truth, it felt good. She had to concentrate to remember where he used to get his coffee and once she was there, it took all her will not to smile wide enough to hurt. He was just like she remembered, if less flirty.

_God, why do I care that he wasn’t flirting?_

Her next stop is a little less explainable than detouring through the bullpen. Autopsy really is out of the question, unless she wants to lie straight to Ducky and Gerald’s faces. But the lab? She could perhaps pass that off as plain curiosity. She hopes she can, at least.

Entering, Kate peeks her head around the door, searching out Abby. The goth woman is sat in front of her computer, looking at graph results on screen.

Her heart catches in her throat. For a long moment, Kate doesn’t know what to say or do. Abby doesn’t turn around, though, leaving the choice up to her. Eventually, Kate draws on her courage, calling out to her.

“Hello?”

“_AH!_” Abby yelps, twirling around on her chair with wide eyes to stare at her. “Why did you do that? Who are you?”

Feeling a head-rush, Kate steps into the lab fully, tugging at the leather edge of her gloves. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Kate – I’m transferring to NCIS and was poking around. Who are you?”

“Abby. Scuito. I do forensics work here, alone and no, I do not need an assistant, before you ask!” Abby starts slow, speeding up as she goes along. Her hand rises too, ringed finger pointing at Kate almost accusingly. Kate raises her hands in mock-surrender, unable to help from smiling.

“Woah. I wasn’t going to ask. It’s nice to meet you.”

Abby is silent for a moment, before saying, “You, too. What kind of work do you do?”

“Spy-work. Protection detail. All sorts,” Kate says, lowering her hands and stepping closer, so she’s standing at the other end of the bench from her former best friend. “I’m a mixed bag, but I was hoping to get onto the Major Case Response team, with Agent Gibbs.”

“Ooh, he’s not in a good mood this week,” Abby immediately replies, expression twisting. Kate recognises a twinge of sadness, mood enforced by her posture. Abby shakes her head. “Not a good week to go job-hunting.”

“I have a job. Director Morrow and I are acquainted already,” she reveals, smiling slightly at Abby’s distaste. “I don’t have a desk yet, however. Where that desk might be is up to Gibbs.”

“He and Tony are kind of strung out…so, spywork?”

“Ex-Secret Service,” Kate answers, leaving out her career as a Marine. Abby goes _ooh_ again, questioning her.

“Did you ever get to meet the President? What’s the best room in the White House?”

“Well,” Kate laughs, “I’ve met the President, but he doesn’t know me by name. All Secret Service on his detail get a face-to-face, so he knows who he can trust. As to the best room in the White House…I’m partial to one on the north side. The wallpaper is lovely.”

“Have you ever done investigative work before?” Abby asks, peering at her. “Gibbs won’t like it.”

Surprised, Kate raises an eyebrow. “Why? And no, not in this lifetime.”

“I like that phrase – ‘in this lifetime’,” Abby repeats, “I like the mysterious-ness. Gibbs likes to train up his own agents. Tony was in the police, before Gibbs whipped him into shape. He’s one of the best around.”

“Who? Tony or Gibbs?”

“Gibbs, definitely – but Tony’s good, too. He’s Gibbs’ protégé.”

“He’s lucky,” Kate replies genuinely. She can’t imagine what Tony’s life was like before he met Gibbs – she imagines it colourless, without the positive energy Tony usually produces. This job is his life, no matter what he does in his free time.

Abby hums in agreement. “Yeah. He is.” A comfortable silence falls, leaving the two to their thoughts before Abby finally speaks again. “Hey. What do you do outside of work? Do you live in DC?”

“Yep. Been here three years. I like running and I like working,” Kate says, adding, “and shopping, though I don’t buy much, not anymore.”

“I run in…certain circles,” Abby smirks, gesturing briefly to herself. “I’m not sure you’d know them.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” Kate chuckles. Her gun is a familiar weight on her belt and she pats it fondly, happy to know her Sig Sauer is within reach. “The action I get with this is more than enough for me.”

Abby giggles. “Admit it,” she teases and Kate thinks_, this conversation just got familiar._ Déjà vu hits her like a tonne of bricks. “You just like strapping on a gun.”

Mouth dry, Kate can’t reply at first, pausing too long before her reply. “I’d prefer two.”

The scientist noticed her pause. The tone of their conversation shifts, Abby’s gaze more curious – more _worried_. “Are you alright?” she asks, as _Abby_ as ever, noticing things Kate would rather keep hidden.

Kate sighs a little. Quietly, she tells her a half-truth. “I’ve seen a lot of combat, lately. It’d be nice to just…sit behind a desk sometime, but know I’m doing something worthwhile.”

“I get that.” Abby’s countenance is serious as she speaks. “I think you’d get on well with Gibbs. I can speak with him for you, if you like.”

“Thank-you,” Kate says, genuinely surprised at the offer – but happy, at the same time. “That’s kind of you.”

Abby waves it off. “It’s nothing. Gibbs will be good to you and I’m sure you’ll be good for the team.” In the corner of the lab, something beeps and Abby gets up. “Got to get that!”

“I’ll leave you be,” Kate says, watching Abby make her way over to one of her machines. Abby waves.

“Okay – I’ll see you around!”

Kate waves back, smiling. “You will,” she promises, before making a timely exit. Her smile sticks as she leaves the building.

One down, four to go.

* * *

By total coincidence, they meet again in a bar.

Kate does not expect to see him. She’s half a margarita into a pleasant night of not-even-tipsy, which is about as drunk as she allows herself to get, these days – her brother’s have made it clear to everyone in her hometown that she is not allowed to get drunk anymore and grudgingly, Kate agrees. When her paranoia is intensified by drink, people end up getting shot.

But one margarita won’t kill her. Anyway, she’s celebrating.

She doesn’t actually think it’s Gibbs at first. She just looks him up and down, marking him as a potential one-night stand, then wonders exactly why. Maybe it’s the posture or perhaps it’s just the general _Gibb-ness_ of him, the emotionless expression on his face and the general Gibbs way of clothes he’s wearing. All her focus is on him, tunnel-vision narrowing her gaze.

Then they meet eyes and her buzz is chased away by the realisation that she, Caitlin _Jadis_ Todd, has just marked the _actual_ and _real life_ Leroy Jethro Gibbs as a potential one-night stand.

“You live in the area,” he says, after sitting down beside her at the bar. Kate is mute, blank-faced but inwardly reeling. He runs a calloused finger over her bare arm, the one tattooed with reptiles and jungle flowers, made to cover up the scarring she’s sure he can feel. “You aren’t just Secret Service.”

“You’ve been talking to Abby.”

“Kate,” he says her name like it’s its own singular noun. “_Kate,_” he repeats. He doesn’t know who she is, Kate realises – he hasn’t connected _Kate_ to the Caitlin Todd who has applied to work under him. She wonders if he’s lying. She wonders if he’s testing her.

Kate wonders if she should test him back.

“Jethro,” she replies evenly. Gibbs doesn’t let go of her gaze. Kate is the one who looks away, brain whizzing inside her skull. She picks up her margarita, but his hand reaches out to stop her, frowning at the sight of it.

“I distracted you,” he says and a moment later, Kate realises why he’s worried all of a sudden, placing her margarita down like it’s scalding. Bubbles are floating rapidly from the bottom of her glass, a capsule still dissolving into her drink.

“I owe you a thank-you,” Kate mumbles, feeling a shiver run down her back. Her joy has vanished. The tiny amount of alcohol in her stomach is making her feel nauseous. Gibbs slides the margarita towards the bartender, informing them that her drink was just tampered with.

They walk away from the bar, out into the cold night air and down the street. Kate marks his car as he helps her put her jacket back on, not breaking stride. He even tugs her hair out from under her collar.

“What’s your real name?” he asks quietly. Kate can’t help her smile.

“Kate,” she says, gentle as she brushes his shoulder in wordless thanks. “It’s short for Caitlin, Gibbs.”

An irked expression crosses his face. “Damn,” he curses.

“Kind of obvious, huh?” Kate teases, nudging him with her elbow. He glances down at her and she knows that look – it’s the one that he used to get in the original timeline, the one that is taking in her youthful face and judging her wanting. Kate presses her lips together. “Have you even opened my file?”

“Give me a run-down,” he says instead. They stop on the sidewalk and Kate breathes in slowly, nodding carefully.

“Marine Corps, nineteen ninety to nineteen ninety-nine. Three tours, commissioned officer in the tail-end of ninety-five. Honourable discharge. I took some time off, then joined the Secret Service after the attack. Served as a liaison between the Secret Service and NCIS for a short time after my training was complete, then decided I liked NCIS better and requested a transfer.”

Gibbs watches her for a moment. Then he nods. They resume their walk and his gait changes, one she matches without question, without surprise or hesitation. It’s a Marine’s walk, one she remembers always thinking was him rushing about – but no, she knows it, now. Knows it personally. They reach his car shortly, only slowing down at the last minute.

He offers her the passenger side.

Kate asks him, “Before I get in, can I know what you’re offering?”

Gibbs smiles for the first time that night, a twinkle coming to his eye. “You won’t know until we get there.”

“If we go to your house, I’m going to fuck you,” Kate tells him, brassy and bold and expecting him to take her to Navy Yard, instead. But colour comes to his cheeks and his smile turns into a grin, one tainted with something Kate has never seen before.

“We’re going to my house,” he reveals, gesturing to the car. Kate slips into the passenger’s side eagerly, watching him close the door behind her before going to the driver’s spot. Once inside, Kate wonders what will happen – wonders why she is going this. She never would have, last time.

_Last time, _she thinks, _I was his subordinate_.

This time around, it’s different. He might accept her job offer, but either way, they propositioned each other as equals. Kate isn’t thirty years old – she’s more like fifty, with the life experience to match. She’s protected a President, she’s been an NCIS Special Agent and a Marine officer and _that matters._ She isn’t green or innocent or _young_.

Perhaps he can see it. Gibbs is canny like that, able to sniff out fellow Marines with short notice and – apparently – secure her heart with a look. Kate doesn’t deny she’s devoted to him, because she would be lying if she did. He was her team leader and held her respect and trust. He still does.

He’d make a good partner.

_Oh, Caitlin Todd,_ she thinks, closing her eyes and rubbing under her jaw. She has a scar there, one of the few able to be seen in plain sight. _A good partner? Really?_

“Alright?” he asks.

“Peachy,” she replies. “Gibbs or Jethro?”

“Gibbs.”

“No Jethro?” A smile tugs at her lips as he grunts something intelligible – but it’s not denial, clearly. “When you’ve got your clothes off, maybe.”

He lets out a short bark of laughter. “Cocky,” he calls her.

“A women without a balls doesn’t survive long in our line of work,” says Kate, getting another short chuckle before she asks, “Like it?”

“Definitely,” he says.

“Good.”

* * *

The next morning, Kate is forcibly woken from a nightmare, ending with her grappling with Gibbs as they disagree with each other’s presence in bed. There’s wind in her ears and sand under her nails, an unexpected body in her grasp. Her fingers claw at his chest before she gets him in the jaw, but he uses his weight against her and pins her down.

“Get your head on straight, Marine!” he hisses and something in her wants to rebel, but it’s overwhelmed by the sharpness of his voice and the knowledge that _she belongs_, _she is a Marine and so is he_. She can trust him – and Kate breaks out of it with a sharp breath, swearing. Gibbs growls darkly, “Time off?”

“Needed it. Was a lot worse, before – but you set me off, waking me like that, Gibbs,” Kate replies back, equally as angry. “That’s not on me. Let go.”

He rolls off her and Kate rolls with him. For a moment he stares at her, then they kiss a different way to how they kissed the night before. It’s rough and jagged; they come together harshly and Kate knows that her wrist and her hip will bruise dark, today. There are so many different ways to have sex and this one, somehow, she _adores_.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Kate,” he mutters under his breath, dawning sun shining through the window. His hand runs down her side where she was injured, burns and thick scarring like his own – like his back, from shrapnel and mines and all things dangerous – hidden underneath greens, blacks, yellows and pinks.

Somehow, though, among two square foot of ink, he finds the only set of writing.

When he traces it, Kate reaches down to grab his hand. “No,” she says, “don’t touch.”

“Kelly. You have a friend?” His voice is deceptively light.

“She was a kid I couldn’t help,” Kate replies in an exhausted voice, treading a fine line. She never should have given him a chance to find it. She lies to him, to cover her own ass and her own weakness for a story she hasn’t yet deserved to hear, in this life. If she tried – if she _really_ tried – she could have saved her. “I- I lost them. Her and her parents. We all have our losses and she’s as much mine.”

He’s silent after that. In the last moments of their companionship, Kate takes the moment to judge him – to memorise his body and the way it looks, so she can immortalise it on paper, later. It won’t be right, but it will be something. The _Semper Fi_ tattooed on his arm is not a surprise – and neither are the two names over his heart, one identical to the name on her ribs.

She runs a last hand through the grey curls over his chest, then goes to find the shower.

* * *

“What am I here for, Director?”

Morrow behind his desk gives her a short smile, before speaking. “I like you,” he says first. “I endorsed your transfer to NCIS, on the assumption that I might be able to use you for something I have in mind.”

“Oh?” Kate raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Morrow picks up a file, handing it to her. Kate opens it, scanning the mission statement. “I know you want to get into investigations. I was wondering if I could convince you otherwise.”

“Why?” Kate asks, brow furrowing as she gets into the meat of the operation. “This is…this is not what I’m trained for.”

“It’s the sort of thing other agents _can_ be trained for,” Morrow replies, “and you were a Captain in the Marine Corps. You have the right stuff that I need to start a new division inside NCIS, based on espionage for the safety and security of NCIS agents. It would focus on securing agents in need of protection, doing reconnaissance work for major operations in the interest of the agent instead of the mission and acting as a blockade between other agencies, when they make trouble with our people. The next few years will see the building of this division. I want you to consider it, but either way, I’ll have you bound by a contract not to repeat anything you learned here today, Jadis.”

“I got that name because I died and came back to life, Director,” she tells him, meeting his eyes, “not because I was a good leader. I won’t lie, this sounds great and I’d be honoured – but it’s not what I want to do.”

“Is that a no, Captain?”

She ruminates. _A couple of years_, she thinks, wondering what Gibbs’ opinion on this is. She can’t do both jobs, no matter how…_interesting _this offer sounds.

Something in her brain sparks.

“Could I do both?” Kate asks aloud, giving Morrow her thoughts. “Could I work part-time with the MCRT, while assisting on this?”

Morrow smiles.

“I think we can sort something out. You’re good people, Todd. I’m going to make use of that.” He stands, leaning over his desk to offer her a hand, which Kate takes as she rises up, file still in hand. “Welcome to the NCIS Agent Security Division. Now, tell me what you think of that mock-up mission. Walk and talk. I’m going to introduce you to the Major Case Response Team. Gibbs still hasn’t got back to me with your application, damn bastard.”

“Unsurprising,” Kate replies, walking side by side with him as she goes over the mission statement. She hasn’t had time to look over more than the basics, but her questions are based on how the Agent Security Division will be formed: how many people will she have under her? What sort of resources will be available to her? Will she have the power to tell NCIS agents to stand down, even if they outrank her? What sort of blockade against other agencies does he have in mind?

The answers she gets are short and on occasion, murky. Morrow has a vision, one of NCIS being more than just a military-specific police force. He wants them to have more protection from inside and outside forces – for his agents to have an extra defence against the world, whenever they need it. The Agent Security Division at times would be NCIS’s own personal Internal Affairs, ensuring the lives and wellbeing of NCIS agents in High Alert and on missions that are potentially detrimental to them. They’d also provide the Legal department assistance and hope no-one gets too claustrophobic under their care.

“You’d have a variety of underlings, all different proficiencies, at first in a single team and then multiple teams and support staff,” Morrow states calmly as they make their way downstairs. “It would be a small division, responsible for thousands. All long-term undercover agents will be required to send anecdotes in their reports about their wellbeing, meant to be received by your division. If their handler tries to conceal anything, you’d have the authority to pull the agent out.”

Kate nods shortly. “Would you be able to disregard my decision?”

“Any cases that I am personally interested in will have you involved from the start. Yes, I can,” Morrow says, seriously, “but not lightly. I’d like to believe that your argument for recalling the agent would be sound and that the training of the operative wouldn’t provide you an opportunity to question their safety in the first place. Ideally, the division would be an oversight committee, in the loosest term possible – any action you take will reflect on NCIS’ ability to pull off operations and investigations.”

“Balance the job with their duty,” Kate says, handing him the file back as they approach the centre bullpen. Tony and Gibbs are standing in front of the screen by Gibbs’ desk, backs to them as they argue over a plan to uncover some kind of drug dealer.

“Gibbs,” Morrow calls out.

Gibbs turns, Tony half a second behind but far more dramatic as he twirls. Kate meets Gibbs’ eyes when his gaze falls on her, nodding shortly. He steps forwards, glancing at Morrow.

“This is Todd.”

“Yes, she is,” Morrow replies. “What did you think of her application?”

“Will it matter?” he asks, “You’ve already decided.”

“I have, but I value your opinion.”

Gibbs is silent for a few seconds, Tony trailing up behind him to ask, “Who’s this?”

“Agent Dinozzo,” the Director presses his lips together. “Depending on Gibbs’ decision, this may be the newest member of the Major Case Response Team: Caitlin Todd.”

“We’ve met already,” says Gibbs after her finishes. Kate struggles to keep her heartbeat steady, nerves lighting through her in anticipation. “She’s on probation – no skipping through training!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kate speaks for the first time, inclining her head. “How can I help?”

“Go schlep for Abby,” Gibbs orders her, Morrow frowning deeply, even as Kate nods in agreement. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“I’m going,” she says lightly, turning to Morrow. “Sir. I assume we’ll talk again soon.”

Morrow nods sharply. “We will.”

Another nod. Kate strides away, heading to the elevator, travelling down to Abby’s lab. She smiles when the frantic woman exclaims her name.

“Kate! What are you doing here?”

“That’s Probationary Special Agent Todd,” she teases, happily accepting the hug Abby offers her in congratulations. “Gibbs sent me down to help you out.”

“Cool – what sort of training do you have?”

“Enough to do basic grunt work, not enough to work your precious babies.”

“Awesome,” Abby says, leading her to the main table where a variety of bags full of dirt await them. “A lieutenant was found dead in a dumpster, covered in dirt. Buried, then dug up.”

“Nasty. What’s with the dirt?”

“Potential grave sites. I need you to find any traces of human DNA, then tell me so I can compare them to the sample of Lieutenant Gordon.”

“This have to do with Gibbs’ drug dealer?” Kate asks, moving away from the desk to hang up her jacket with Abby’s, grabbing a spare lab coat to put on over her slacks and turtleneck.

“Methamphetamines. _Gargantuan_ amounts of methamphetamines,” Abby replies. “The lieutenant overdosed. Now they’re just trying to find the drug dealer that got him killed.”

“And the dirt?” Kate hazards, “They think the drug dealer killed him?”

“We’ve got prints of like, six different people on his body – and we’re not sure. He was also shot, point-blank.”

“Nice,” Kate says, before returning to the dirt table. She winks at Abby. “Let’s get to work.”

Abby smiles, nodding as she punches the air. “Yes. To work!”

* * *

They find human DNA in the dirt from his house back yard and trace it to a flowerbed, which has been recently dug up. The wife stutters and tries to lie about landscaping, but they have her prints on his body and on his missing Glock, that they find under the sink.

Lieutenant Gordon was a crystal meth addict, but his wife didn’t know that until he came stumbling home one night, drugged to his gills. She shot him out of fear and buried him in the garden – not expecting his drug dealer to come looting, hauling his body off and dumping it instead of burning it, after discovering he couldn’t be blamed for his death.

Well, he could still be blamed for being a drug dealer. Incarceration suits him, as it does Mrs Gordon.

“Neat and tidy,” Tony says, hands slipping behind his head. Kate, getting used to being behind her desk again, ignores him as he peers at her. “All we’re missing is the red ribbon. You’d look nice in a ribbon, Caitlin – _just_ a ribbon.”

“I’ll get Abby to help me hide your body,” she says monotonously, inspecting the empty drawers and feeling a little sad that her nick-knacks aren’t all there. “No-one would ever find it.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Harsh, Caitlin.”

“It’s just Kate, _Tony,_” she glances his way, plastering on a fake smile. “Oh wait, your name is _Anthony,_ right?”

A scowl passes over his face. “No. Just Tony, _Kate._”

“Nice to see we have an understanding.”

He twists back and forth in his chair. “Do people call you Katie? Kitty? _Lynn?_”

“Just Kate.”

“What about your dad?”

“I’m not sharing personal information with you, Tony,” she tells him, shifting the desk lamp a couple of inches to the right. “And only my boyfriends have ever called me ‘Katie’.”

“And how many boyfriends have you had, Agent Todd?” he asks with a grin.

Kate huffs, wondering if she _really_ has to get used to this again. “None of your business, Agent Dinozzo. We’re not teenagers sharing stories. My partners aren’t your concern.”

“You just said partners,” he quickly points out, pointing at her. “Are you a _lesbian_, Agent Todd? Do you do the bumper to bumper? Have you got your gold star?”

“_Tony!_” she hisses, outraged. His grin is sleezy and all-knowing.

“Yeah, you do. So, how many _girlfriends_ have you had, _Katie?_”

From his desk, Gibbs barks, “Dinozzo!”

“Yes, boss?” he turns his way.

“Stop asking Kate about her personal life,” he orders gruffly, still staring at his reports. “She’s one of us. Leave her be.”

“Wow. That was fast – ‘one of us’,” Tony quotes, withering under Gibbs’ unexpected glare.

“Enough,” he demands his obedience, getting a quick nod from Tony before he returns to his paperwork. Kate’s heart pounds, staring at Gibbs.

_One of us._

She’s been here less than twelve hours and she’s already his. Her soul sings at the idea – but her head screams that something’s not right. This can’t just be because she’s on his team, or because she’s a Marine. No, this is something else.

His reaction haunts her the rest of the night. When she goes home and trains, stripped down to her underwear, Kate can’t get him out her head. They slept together and that’s almost forgettable, their interactions henceforth professional as all hell. Except – _except_ – Kate knows about Rule 12.

Never date a co-worker.

There’s a reason for each and every rule Gibbs has. Some of them are useful in their profession, like Rule 9 – never go anywhere without a knife – and Rule 2 – always wear gloves at a crime scene. But others are common sense and paranoia put together, like never dating co-workers and hiding the women and children first.

Why call her ‘one of the team’? It doesn’t make sense. It certainly doesn’t want to make Kate trust them, in the stereotypical sense. She feels like a newbie again and in truth…for all she knows them, they are strangers. They won’t act the same with her, as time goes by. Their relationship doesn’t begin on a Presidential plane – it begins at NCIS, with a coffee and a codename. Maybe she’ll get lucky and still meet McGee at Norfolk, but who knows?

Footsteps outside of her apartment break her from her thoughts and Kate stills, taking in her surroundings and listen to the quiet tread as it tarries outside her door. A moment later, there’s a knock.

Her hand goes for her gun, but she’s in her underwear; Kate rectifies that immediately, grabbing her Sig Sauer and a nearby dress she meant to take to the dry-cleaners. Tugging it on, Kate makes her way to the door, gun half an inch from the white panelling as she looks through the peephole.

She nearly fires.

Ari knocks again, dressed up like a pizza boy with a stupid hat and sunglasses. He glances at the address written on the cardboard pizza box, knocking again. Kate deliberately lowers her Sig, opening the door as far as her chain will go.

“Hello?” She looks him up and down, “That’s not mine.”

“Are you…” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows like some kind of frat boy. Clearly, he’s here to check her out in the professional sense, covering it up with a lewd expression. “Casey Davids?”

“No. You’ve got the wrong building – try across the street,” she says, before summarily shutting her door and stepping sideway, Sig up and ready. She hears him knock again.

“_You sure this isn’t yours? This is my last delivery. I can always tell my boss that she picked it up._”

Kate doesn’t reply, instead picking up her cell from by the door and flipping it open, dialling Gibbs. There are no footsteps from outside – no sign that Ari is doing anything other than listening to her call.

It rings once, twice, before Gibbs picks up. “_Who is this?_”

“Hi, is this security?” Kate says, loud enough to be heard by both parties. “You let someone into the building who shouldn’t be here. He’s outside my door and he’s not going away.”

Caught out, Ari walks away. Only Kate’s trust that he can walk back silently keeps her from breaking her façade.

“_Kate. Who’s outside your door?_”

“I don’t know him and I don’t like how he looked at me. Felt like he could see under my skin – creep,” she keeps talking, grasp on her Sig Sauer tightening. Truthfully, she says, “I’m definitely not sleeping tonight.”

“_I’m coming over. What does he look like?_”

“Arab, early thirties, pizza boy uniform,” she says, closing her eyes. She can’t hear him, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. “Looks like a prick I used to know, back in the day, actually.”

Gibbs’ rumble is audible over the line. “_Terrorist? You recognise him, Todd?_”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“_Stay on your guard. Is he gone?_”

“No clue,” she says, quieter. Sweat is forming around her Sig’s grip and she remembers him out in the country, playing with her and testing her ability to find the pea. He’d killed Marta without remorse. Autopsy had been worse, but the second kidnapping had been the one that tested her. He’d told her he was Mossad, but how was she supposed to believe that? Double agents are never to be trusted – _never_.

Also, he hurt Gerald and he shot Gibbs. Those things, she won’t ever forgive, no matter the lifetime.

“_I’m going to hang up. Stay put._”

Kate listens to the line go dead, snapping her phone shut and then, for added measure, takes the safety off her gun. Outside her door, the complete _lack_ of noise is disconcerting; she truly has no idea if he’s gone.

Eventually, she steps away from the door, giving it a couple of minutes. The dress is tight in the wrong places and it doesn’t have anywhere to hang her holster; she strips again, clipping her holster to her underwear and pulling on the USMC sweater. Then, she returns to the door, looking through the peephole.

Ari is not there. Kate doesn’t fully let herself believe he’s really gone. Paranoia tickles the back of her neck, telling her not to move and she swears under her breath, realising she’s made a mistake.

_Shit, shit, shit,_ she thinks, swallowing a large lump in her throat. Her head is fucked and she has no idea if it’s her brain acting up, or there really is a possibility that a sniper could be stationed nearby. Being sniped again is her worst nightmare. Her _life_ ended because of a headshot.

Rationally, Kate deduces that it isn’t an insane theory that an undercover Hamas operative might be charged with investigating her and perhaps even assassinating her; Morrow hasn’t kept it quiet about the new division in NCIS, or who’s involved with it. Kate laughs at the irony. She might end up being one of Gibbs’ cases, if she’s not more careful.

This is NCIS. Not the Corps. Ari has seen her up close and who knows what he saw, when he did.

When Gibbs finally arrives, he bangs on the door and barks her name. Kate lets him in without protest, muscles locked. He looks her up and down, taking her Sig Sauer. She allows it, running her hands through her hair, fingers getting caught in her hairband.

“You alright?” he asks her.

“Physically,” she mutters in return, smiling grimly. He knows better than to ask what’s going on in her head. When he goes to check her apartment, she grabs at his arm, latching on tightly. He looks down at her sharply.

“What?” he asks her.

“Ari Haswari, Mossad officer undercover in Al Qaeda,” she rattles off, sparing him a warning look, “and don’t ask me how I know that. Hamas. I don’t know whether I’m being paranoid or not by asking you to be careful in front of the windows.”

“If it seems like someone is out to get you,” Gibbs states lowly, “they are. Rule Forty.”

_Rule Forty,_ Kate repeats in the privacy of her head. She’s never heard that rule before.

He still searches her apartment, using her Sig as his weapon, pronouncing it clear. Kate doesn’t move from her entranceway.

Gibbs stares at her, then goes back into her apartment. Alarmed, Kate takes one step forwards, then stops, brain _screaming_ she can’t go in there. She hears drawers opening and closing, a _thump_ of a door and a zipper. When Gibbs returns, it’s with a bag full of clothes, a pair of shoes and a skirt in hand.

“Put these on.” He orders her, giving her the skirt and shoes. “You’re staying at mine.”

“Th-thanks,” Kate stutters briefly, before hauling on her skirt – one that she’d usually wear a button-up with – and then the shoes. It’s all awfully mismatched and she dreads to find what Gibbs has put in the backpack. She reattaches her holster to her skirt after taking it off her underwear, grabbing one of her nearby jackets at last moment. Gibbs nods in approval and takes her keys, apartment and car, from the side-table.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

They don’t have sex again, but they do sleep in the same bed. When she wakes up from her nightmare, Gibbs’ heartbeat under her ear is familiar; her brain manages to remember he’s safe and in the morning sun, she relaxes again, laying on top of him and letting her nightmare fizzle away.

His breathing changes when she settles and she feels his hand spread over her back, touching jaguars and black panthers baring their teeth at mystery enemies.

“Why animals?” Gibbs mutters, barely legible.

“Large,” she replies drowsily. “Movies. _Jungle Book_ was always my favourite.” One of the largest snakes on her arm is based on Kaa, an Indian python that winds all the way from her wrist to her collarbone, smaller than she’d hoped for when it was finally done.

Sitting up, Kate leans on his chest, looking at him properly. Last night, he’d come when she called and she feels like she’s taking everything too far; he barely knows her. The Corps doesn’t bind them together that tightly – their matching _Semper Fi_ tattoos aren’t identical. It’s almost a fascination of hers, wondering how wound into his life the Marines really are. Her regular nightmares are testament to how traumatic and mind-blowing her duty was, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

He reaches for her again, his hand brushing a curl behind her ear. “Old enough to be your father.”

“You’re not my father,” she replies, crossing her arms and leaning on his chest, chin on her arms. He shuffles, head tilted to watch her. “I have a feeling you don’t date.”

“Never date a co-worker.”

“Is that another rule?” she asks, not letting him reply. “Because we don’t have to date. Dating is for civilians and people in different departments.”

“I don’t want to date you,” Gibbs says to her, moving. Kate sits up properly, letting him stretch and crack his back with a wince. “What happened last night? That’s the only reason you’re here.”

Pain flares in her chest, but she tamps it down. “A beautiful woman in your bed and you ask her about the terrorist that was inspecting her? I’m hurt, Gibbs.”

“Does he know you know him?”

“No,” Kate says, shaking her head. She rolls her shoulders and takes off her bra, ignoring how Gibbs’ gaze is drawn to her breasts. She stretches out her arms – it was a mistake not to completely strip, last night. “My psych records, if he’s got ‘em, will probably make up for any suspicious behaviour. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew I wasn’t calling security. He’s good, Gibbs.”

“Not that good, if you caught him,” he disparages, but Kate shakes her head again.

“Don’t underestimate him, Gibbs. He’s Mossad, too. He’ll do anything to keep his cover intact – anything,” she says, feeling slightly lost. Her memories have faded, but she remembers the adrenaline and seeing him again is bringing everything back. She rubs at her face, containing her shudder. “This is Al Qaeda we’re talking about. There’s only a few reasons why he’d be stalking me, though.”

“NCIS.”

“Morrow.”

“The Secret Service,” Gibbs says, pinning her with a _look_. “What do you know, Todd?”

“Gibbs,” she says in disbelief, eyes wide. “You think I know what he wants? For all we know, he’s scouting out _you_ and I’m just lucky enough to have caught him at it.”

“Why do you think he wants me?” Gibbs then asks, managing to pick out the kernel of truth to her statement. “You’re dangerous, if you know stuff about him.”

Kate needs to escape this conversation before she falls into a trap of Gibbs’ making. Restless, she puts her bra back on, wanting to cover up. Gibbs makes no move to hide his own bare chest, watching her.

“What do you know, Kate?”

Kate utters, “Nothing more. He’s dangerous and I want him away from you. He’s a doctor, went to the same medical school as Ducky-” she sees his expression close up and doesn’t know whether it’s from the mention of Ducky or something else “-but other than that, I’m out. Confirmed data is much more dangerous than guesses.”

“Do you have a dossier?”

“No.”

“Make one – my eyes only,” he tells her and Kate shuts her eyes, thanking God. When his hand slides up her chest to her bra, Kate raises an eyebrow and looks at him, incredulous. That _smirk_ appears and he says casually as he tugs at the wiring, “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down,” Kate repeats, not reacting beyond how she can’t control. When he leans across to brush his lips over her shoulder, she grasps his biceps, tilting her head back to give him better access. His hands roam indiscriminately and a breathy laugh bubbles out from her chest.

“Something funny?”

Kate imagines telling her younger self what’s happening and laughs a little more. Her giggles set him off and she’s smiling still when he rolls her onto her back, her hands in his hair and his own holding him up. She’s in a sexual relationship with Leroy Jethro Gibbs – and she wants to keep it. She wants to be _one of us_ and more importantly, _his_.

She kisses him, capturing his lips with her own and Kate feels safe for the first time in years.


End file.
